


Sweet Respite

by harlequindreaming (armydoctor)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cuddles, Established Relationship, M/M, and bedtime, so much fluff that cotton has nothing on it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-23
Updated: 2012-08-23
Packaged: 2017-11-12 17:50:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armydoctor/pseuds/harlequindreaming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sherlock interrupts John's sleep, and John's reminded once again why he loves the maddening git.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Respite

**Author's Note:**

> Imported from my LiveJournal account. I'd actually forgotten I'd written this particular piece. It was inspired by an RP I did with someone, once. I never got to ask them for a URL of sorts, so if you see this, Stranger, take your credit and my thanks.
> 
> Addendum: the absolutely fantastic twhirlpool has written a fanfic inspired by one of the lines in this fic. It's entitled "[Last](http://archiveofourown.org/works/728330)," and I highly recommend you read it. (Aka me nicely saying GO FUCKING READ IT, IT'S GENIUS.) To twhirlpool, thank you so much! I'm flattered my work could inspire yours.

Despite the fact that it was half three in the morning, Sherlock Holmes had no compunctions thundering up the stairs to John Watson's room and barging in. John himself was fast asleep, snuffling lightly, covers shoved down to his waist. Sherlock toed off his shoes, shucked off his suit jacket, and climbed in, tucking himself into the warm hollow created by John's arms, torso and knees. The fact that he was still in most of his day clothes seemed to slip over his head entirely.  
  
The warm body under the sheets stirred, awoken by the sudden _flump_ of weight onto his bed and the exponential increase in warmth on his right side. "Mmph?" John muttered blearily, earning himself a mouthful of dark curls. He sputtered awake. "Sh'lock?"  
  
"Obviously," came the muffled response as Sherlock began insinuating himself between John's sheets and slipping his sock feet up to nestle against John's ankles. He rolled his eyes even if John could not see it. "No, I am a serial killer climbing into your bed, come to murder you in your sleep."  
  
John huffed out a sleepy laugh, turning to make it easier for Sherlock to curl up around him. "All right then. Please don't kill me until I've told Sherlock I love him, would you?"  
  
"Idiot," Sherlock muttered, wrapping an arm around John's waist and nestling into the crook of his shoulder. "Not terribly creative or brilliant last words, are those? I thought you told Lestrade you wanted your last words to be - what was it? 'Macho?'" He would have made air-quotes with his fingers had his hands not been otherwise occupied with latching onto John as if Sherlock were some bizarre, four-legged octopus.  
  
John chuckled, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. "Yes, but that's Lestrade. He's unlikely to be present in the event that I need to utter last words." He shrugged. "Besides, it's true."  
  
"You've already told me twice today," Sherlock pointed out, finally managing to find a good spot for his head. "I should think that would be sufficient."  
  
John cocked an eyebrow, pulling away slightly. "If it bothers you so much then how about I stop saying it?"  
  
"I didn't say that," Sherlock pouted, wrinkling his nose. He raised his head to glare at John - it faltered upon the sight of his sleep-wrinkled, gentle face - and dropped it back. One finger idly traced the rise and fall of John's ribs. "But if I were, indeed, a serial killer, your last words would have been moot since you would have already, in fact, told me you loved me. Therefore you ought to have come up with better ones. Or pinned the serial killer down. What kind of ex-soldier are you?"  
  
"Pinned him down, hm?" In one smooth motion, John rendered all the effort Sherlock had put into making himself comfortable for naught as he rolled up and over, snatching Sherlock's wrists in his hands and pinned them down onto the bed. "How's this?" he asked teasingly, roguish grin lilting his lips.  
  
Sherlock, however, merely looked unimpressed and had the gall to quip, "rather delayed reaction, isn't that? If I were a serial killer I'd have managed to slit your throat by now and mmfffhmph." The rest of his snarky comment was swallowed up by an abrupt kiss from John that was at first a tight press of lips and afterward soft and languid. John relaxed his hold on Sherlock's wrist, rolled to his side and wrapped his arms around the consulting detective.  
  
"You are a maddening, utterly ridiculous git, I hope you know," John said quietly, amusedly, once the kiss had broken and Sherlock was peering up at him with a rather dazed expression on his face. "And before it comes up, don't you try and pass this off as post-case sleep. You're on a case right now, I know, the Juliette de Mersenn disappearance. If you want to cuddle, all you need to do is ask."  
  
"I do not _cuddle,_ " Sherlock retorted, bottom lip sliding out before he could help himself. He grimaced, tried to glare at John, and hunched down rather sheepishly under his questioning, disbelieving expression. "I don't," he muttered sullenly, and John laughed.  
  
"Maddening and utterly ridiculous git." Nevertheless, he obligingly pulled Sherlock close, tucking his head into the crook of his neck and tangling their ankles. Sherlock hummed his approval, and comfortable silence reigned between them. Sherlock's breathing evened out, and just as John thought he might get back to sleep, there was an abrupt and rather painful poke to his ribs.  
  
"Sherlock," he grumbled, opening one eye to glare down at the offending person, who was blinking up at him without an ounce of remorse, "be nice to me. I do hope you remember I can kick you out of _my_ bed right now and ignore the inevitable, pouty strop you'll throw in the morning." Sherlock raised his eyebrows and John heaved a put-upon sigh. "What is it?"  
  
"Twice isn't enough," Sherlock stated matter-of-factly, and the look wore was so expectant John was torn between smothering him with a kiss and smothering him with a pillow. He settled for smiling and rolling his eyes in fond exasperation.  
  
"Maddening and utterly ridiculous," he said again for good measure, and dropped a kiss to Sherlock's curls. "But yes, all right, fine. I do love you."  
  
Sherlock happily wiggled closer and repeated his octopus act, and fell asleep so promptly that if John hadn't been expecting it he might not have noticed. With another sigh, John pressed another kiss to Sherlock's head and closed his eyes. He'd try to remember to be annoyed in the morning.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Last](https://archiveofourown.org/works/728330) by [twhirlpool](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twhirlpool/pseuds/twhirlpool)




End file.
